A Good Year
by Argenteus Draco
Summary: "2017 was a particularly good year for wands." Garrick Ollivander sells three remarkable wands to three remarkable children, though perhaps they don't know it yet.
1. Albus

**A Good Year**

_by Argenteus Draco_

* * *

2017 was a particularly good year for wands.

For many years, Garrick Ollivander had been promising to retire and turn the shop over to his son Sebastian, but something had always gotten in the way. He was an old man, born nearly a century ago, and very set in his habits. It just so happened that his habits included getting up in the morning and making his way from his bed to his breakfast and down the creaking old stairs to the workbench at the end of his shop. Maybe he was a bit slower in finishing a wand than he had been in his youth, but it was work he loved. It was the only life he knew.

Garrick was working with a particularly stubborn piece of juniper wood — gnarled, dry, and refusing to marry with any of the phoenix feathers he had laid out for it — when the bell rang at the front of the shop. He pushed his chair back and got slowly to his feet, feeling very much like the wood of the stairs. He heard voices before he rounded the last shelf, one of them familiar.

"Bet your wand is made of hawthorn."

"No it won't."

"Hawthorn's bad luck!"

"Shut up, James!"

"Now, come on. I once used a very good hawthorn wand. Please don't touch anything, Al."

"Ah, let him touch," Garrick remarked in answer, smiling warmly at the boy — well, man, but he was a boy compared to Garrick — with the remarkable eyes and the even more remarkable holly-and-phoenix-feather wand. "How will he find if he does not touch?"

Harry Potter smiled back and shook his head. There were two much younger boys on either side of him. One of them Ollivander had seen before, though he'd been shorter at the time. James Sirius Potter had come to the shop with his parents on his eleventh birthday, just a little over two years before. He had not tried many wands; just two before Garrick had stepped in and rescued the appointment (and the lamp on the counter). Perhaps Sebastian had expected James to favor a wand like his father's, but Garrick had taken one look at the light in the boy's brown eyes and known which wand to give him; dogwood, phoenix feather, twelve inches, springy. A playful wand for a boy with a mischievous streak and a loving heart.

His younger brother proved more difficult to read. He had been, until his father's reprimand, reaching for the bell on the counter, no doubt impatient and ready to ring it again. Now he looked back at Garrick Ollivander with a calm and steady gaze, waiting for… he didn't know what. There was curiosity behind his eyes. Perhaps his brother had told him one too many fantastic stories. Perhaps he would prove to be more like his father.

Garrick fingered several boxes before choosing one and holding it out to the youngest boy. "Well, we might as well get the hawthorn out of the way. Give it a wave, go on."

Hesitantly, the dark haired boy took the wand and gave it an experimental flick. Nothing happened, not even the tell-tale misfires that so often caused things to fly around Ollivander's shop. Well, no great surprise there. Hawthorn was notoriously difficult to master; it almost never did as expected, and Garrick had seen more than one good example of that.

He scanned the shelves and picked several more boxes, nearly tumbling a few older ones in his search. First a few phoenix feather — but cores were more difficult to match than woods, and both of the boy's parents had favored wands made of their birth wood. Though with Harry, it had most definitely been the core which decided it, and Garrick suspected that the wood was merely a coincidence.

He'd need some measurements, and while Al waved a short wand of alder and unicorn hair, Garrick ducked behind his counter for his measuring tape. "All right," he said, straightening up again and approaching the boy. "Give me that back. It's old fashioned methods from here."

The boy looked at the measuring tape with a raised eyebrow. It must have seemed so mundane to him. The numbered markings were common enough, though the intervals they came in were unique, a system Garrick had developed in his youth. He measured the length of the boy's arms from shoulder to fingertip, from elbow to shoulder, the distance between his fingers; he lifted the boy's arm so that it stretched straight out to his side, and measured the distance between his wrist and his hips. James fidgeted.

"Dad, I'm bored."

"Your aunt offered to take you to Florish and Blott's."

"That's boring, too." He cast his brother a scathing look. "How much longer?"

Harry Potter shrugged. James threw himself into the chair by the door. Al stuck his tongue out at his brother until Garrick pulled his head around to measure the line from his eye to his palm, held open in front of him. He scribbled that number down and looked over his other figures, tapping his quill idly against the parchment as he considered. Then he went to get more boxes. Aspen and phoenix feather. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Cedar and sycamore, each with unicorn hair. He was walking back toward the front of his shop when he paused over a final alternative. It had fallen, perhaps earlier that day, perhaps a few days before, he couldn't be sure. He bent to pick it up and add it to the pile in his arms. "Maybe," he said aloud, more to himself than his visitors. Maybe it had fallen for a reason.

He deposited the boxes on the counter and lifted the lid off the topmost one. He handed the wand inside to Al, and knew even before the boy had had a chance to wave it. He could see it in the way the green eyes lit up when he wrapped his fingers around the haft. "Birch and dragon heartstring," he said quietly, as Al raised it above his head. "Twelve and a half inches, rather swishy."

White sparks shot from the end as the boy swung it down, coming close to setting his father's jacket on fire. He flushed but looked at his father with unbridled excitement.

"How much?" Harry Potter asked, but Garrick simply waved his question away.

"I have told you before, Harry Potter, that I would not charge for you and yours." He smiled. "I wouldn't say no though, if your wife wanted to send me another box of those toffees."

Harry Potter laughed, left a generous tip in the box despite Garrick's protestations, and herded his boys out of the shop. Garrick watched them head toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, the younger now waving his wand around and pointing it at his brother. Probably harmless, but Harry Potter was quick to step between them and take the wand, placing it delicately into its box. It was a shame he'd chosen a career at the ministry. The boy had shown such interest in wandlore, and Garrick had been sure that he would have made a fine apprentice.

He turned back to his counter, saw the myriad of boxes he would now need to put away.

He could do it later. He went back to the workbench.


	2. Rose

It was a very rainy spring. At first this had been pleasant, but the more moisture got into the air the more de-humidifying charms Garrick had to cast around his shop so that the raw wood did not expand. It did, however, have the advantage of making the juniper malleable enough to open up for a core. He'd given up on the phoenix feathers, having paired them all with some beautiful samples of pine, oak and spruce that Sebastian had sent back from Eastern Europe. Now he was trying dragon heartstring — he'd once made an excellent wand of juniper and dragon heartstring, and sold it to a beautiful debutant who turned out later to become his wife — but that wand had been much longer, and he was loath to cut the dragon heartstring to make it fit. Cutting tended to cause backlash unless paired with a much harder wood. Oak could contain a cut dragon heartstring; juniper could not.

An owl fluttered onto his windowsill and pecked the glass until he rose to open it. He stroked the brown head affectionately; softer than phoenix feathers, which sometimes seemed to bristle with life at his touch.

"And what have you got for me, hm?" He turned his attention to the parchment fastened to the bird's leg, untied it gently, and sent the owl on its way. It had no coin purse, probably a family pet. Garrick braced himself for a commission. He detested the practice of making custom wands, as he found that the person doing the commissioning usually came back within a year to complain that it did not perform as well in their hand as it did in a friend's. The wand chooses the wizard, he always said; though holly and phoenix feather had become a popular combination since Voldemort's second defeat, it would not suit everyone who came asking for it.

He broke the seal. The writing inside was neat and so small that Garrick had to use a magnification charm to read it, even with his glasses. Well, it wasn't a commission; just a parent who wanted to ensure they got time to have their child properly measured and fit with the right wand without the interruption that a crowded shop could cause. Well, it wasn't a problem. Of course Garrick would be happy to see Hermione Weasley-Granger in an after-hours appointment. She and her husband, like Harry Potter, had earned his favors.

She brought the girl in at the appointed time. It was near 6:00, but she was still in her school uniform. It seemed they had come straight to London after her classes, presumably to begin their Hogwarts shopping early. Hermione carried only a single small bag, but Garrick was willing to bet it would be weighed down with cauldron and potions supplies, ink, quills, owl treats, robes and, of course, books. She put it down on the chair by the door and stepped up to the counter. Garrick came around to meet her.

"My dear Hermione," he said, shaking her hand warmly. "Ten and three-quarter inches, vine and dragon heartstring. And you, still so unsure over the whole thing."

"I didn't really believe it," Hermione replied. "Not until I came to your shop."

"Were you ever able to recover it?" Garrick asked. Hermione shook her head.

"It's probably sitting in an evidence room in the basement of the Ministry," she said, only a little sad. "I wonder about it sometimes, but you made me such a wonderful replacement, it doesn't really matter."

"Just shy of twelve inches, ebony, and dragon heartstring. You always did favor it. Still," he finished, directing his gaze to the girl waiting patiently behind her mother, "there's nothing like a first wand."

The girl smiled boldly up at him. Although she had her mother's wild curls, she looked very much like her father, from her fiery red hair, freckles, and blue eyes right down to her hands and feet, both too big for her thin frame. She'd grow into them eventually, and she'd need a longer wand for when that day came. He pulled a box off of the nearest shelf and handed the oak wand inside to the girl.

"Go on, Rosie," her mother prompted. "Give it a wave."

"It doesn't feel right," Rose said, and handed it back to Garrick.

"You haven't even tried—"

Garrick waved a hand to cut Hermione off. "She'll know if it isn't the right one." He put the oak wand away and considered another. Somewhere, he had a handsome mahogany wand with a long handle that might fit her hand… but she didn't seem the type for such a hard wood, or for the dragon heartstring inside.

"I've been reading a bit about different wand-woods," Rose said suddenly. "I was wondering if I could try a maple wand."

Both Garrick and Hermione raised their eyebrows at her slightly, though probably for different reasons. "And why maple?" Garrick asked, pulling down a few likely candidates that fit her request.

"Because maple wands favor ambitious people," Rose replied smartly. Garrick chuckled.

"Hoping for Slytherin house, are we?" he asked.

"Yes," Rose answered, at the same time that her mother said, "No."

This time, Garrick kept his laughter to himself, but he gave Rose a meaningful look as he handed over the next wand. "Maple," he said, "Thirteen and one-quarter-inches, unicorn hair." But once again, Rose shook her head before her fingers had even closed fully around the handle. Garrick took it back, and they proceeded through the rest of the wands he had gathered. He watched her carefully all the while, noting the way her eyes narrowed as she looked at each one, and the way she sometimes reacted just a moment before touching the wand. He wondered…

"Just a minute, if you don't mind," he said, taking back the last of the maple wands. "I've something I think may suite you in the back of the shop."

He turned back toward the shelves. There was a large overstock of silver lime of all different lengths and cores — even a few that Garrick no longer worked with, like kelpie mane and dittany stalk — because the wood had largely fallen out of fashion in the last few decades. It was still popular for certain branches of magic, but sales dwindled every year. He ran his fingers along the dusty boxes, finally settling on one that seemed to match the girl. A bit too long, with an end that tapered and curved like the vine wood of the wand her mother had once owned, with a phoenix feather core. Yes, this would probably do.

He brought the box out to the front, dusting it off as he did. Rose, who had settled into the chair by the door, shoved the book she had been reading back into her bag and jumped back up to the counter. Garrick handed her the wand solemnly, and the moment she took it, her eyes went wide.

"There now," Garrick said, "give that a proper wave."

She did, tentatively at first, and then executed a neat sweep-and-flick movement that resulted in a warm blast of air, ruffling the curtains drawn over the windows. Hermione beamed at her daughter.

"Silver lime," Garrick told them, "fourteen inches, phoenix feather, rigid and very durable."

But Rose's eyes were uncertain again as she put the wand back in its box on the counter. "Silver lime," she said hesitantly. "That's for Seers, isn't it?"

"Seers have favored it, true," Garrick answered. "As have many Legilimens."

His words didn't seem to be comforting Rose, who chewed her lip for a moment before asking, "Could I try a few more? Just to be sure."

Hermione nodded behind her, but Garrick asked her simply, "Did you like this one?"

"Yes."

"And how did it feel, in your hand?"

Rose thought for a moment, and finally settled on the word, "It felt… right, I guess."

"Then it's yours." He offered the box to her again, still open. "It's been waiting a long time for you."


	3. Scorpius

It was nearly August, and Garrick still had been unable to complete the juniper wand. A large knot in the wood prevented him from closing it around the unicorn hair that he had finally settled on, and it was developing a tendency to spark whenever he touched it the wrong way. He resorted to swearing at it.

"Useless piece of driftwood," he muttered. "Miserable—"

The bell at the front of the shop rang, and Garrick whipped around in his chair with as much speed as his aging bones would allow. He hadn't heard the door open, but there was the bell again, plaintively asking for his attention. He groaned and got up from his workbench.

"I'll deal with you later," he said to the piece of juniper sitting innocently on the table. It coughed a few more sparks that, thankfully, did not catch on anything.

At first glance, the front of the shop appeared to be empty, but as he came around the counter, he saw that there was a boy on the other side. He wasn't tall enough yet to reach over it, and he looked anywhere but at Garrick, making it difficult to judge him. "New Hogwarts student?" the wandmaker asked gruffly.

The boy nodded, blond hair flopping down into his face. He hastily tried to push it back, a movement which was vaguely familiar to Garrick, although from where or who, he couldn't say. He pursed his lips and looked at the child more closely.

"And where are your parents, boy?"

"Out… outside," he stuttered, glancing at the window, as if to assure himself that the parents in question were, indeed, still there.

Garrick made a noise in the back of his throat and went to see who else was standing outside his shop. Well away from the door, on the opposite side of the street, a man with the same blond hair as the child waited stoically. He had a pale, pointed face, and he wore a long sleeved black coat despite the summer heat. He squirmed a bit, and Garrick wondered if he could feel the wandmaker's gaze.

"Go back to your father, boy," Garrick said, without turning from the window. "And tell him that if he wants a wand for you from my shop that he can come in here and face me like a man."

There was a brief silence behind him, and then Garrick heard the sound of small feet shuffling quickly towards the door. A moment later, the child joined his father on the street corner. Garrick grumbled to himself and started to go back to his workbench. He didn't expect that Draco Malfoy would be bringing his son back in.

But he was wrong. Just as he was passing the counter the door opened again, briefly letting in a gust of warm, sticky summer air. Now that they were side by side, Garrick couldn't believe that he hadn't immediately recognized the boy as a Malfoy. He was the spitting image of his father, who had been the spitting image of _his_ father when he'd been young. Garrick remembered the day that Draco Malfoy had last stood in this shop, thirty seven years before. Thirty seven years to the day, he realized, because it had been the same day that Harry Potter had bought the holly and phoenix feather wand, and he remembered that date more clearly than most. The Draco of that time had been an arrogant youth, who had told Garrick plainly that he only needed a wand to get him through his Hogwarts years, until he took ownership of an elm wand like his father's, presumably another family heirloom. None of them, not even Garrick, had suspected then what the unassuming wand that had eventually chosen Draco would go on to do.

"Hawthorn," Garrick said, by way of greeting. "Ten inches, unicorn hair."

Draco Malfoy did not respond, merely drew the aforementioned wand from a pocket of his coat and laid it gently on the counter. So, he had kept it after all. It lay on the counter between them, a silent declaration of all the things that Draco couldn't or didn't want to say, and Garrick acknowledged it with a tight nod. This was not about the past. This was about the child.

"Scorpius starts Hogwarts in September," Draco said after a while. Garrick gave the boy an apprising look, rather the way that he would a piece of raw wood, and thought that this would be a fairly straightforward match. There was nothing particularly unusual about the boy, except perhaps for his long, delicate looking fingers; then again, that was about all that Garrick could see of him, since he wore a black cloak rather like his father's wrapped tightly around his body. He would try mahogany, hazel and oak first; good, solid woods with less of their own character than some, that would let the magic of the core inside shine through. And if he was like his father in more than just appearance… yes, Garrick thought, he would begin with unicorn hair.

For his part, Scorpius avoided catching the wandmaker's eye. He was embarrassed, Garrick suspected, because his father was embarrassed, but when he thought that Garrick wasn't looking he peered around the shop with such intensity that Garrick almost thought that he were looking for something. He went to pull a few boxes off the closest shelves, continuing to watch them from the corner of his eye.

"Papa," the boy whispered suddenly, tugging on his father's coat sleeve. "I know which one—"

"It doesn't work like that, Scorpius," Draco Malfoy told him sternly, in a strange echo of words that Garrick might have used with him thirty seven years before.

"_Mais… je peux l'entendre._"

"Scorpius, please, not now."

Garrick came back to the counter, putting down the handful of boxes, and fixed the child with a steady gaze. Scorpius looked at the floor again.

"What does he want?" Garrick asked gruffly, turning his attention back to the father. Draco Malfoy sighed, as though he would rather have this discussion with anyone but Garrick, and put a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Which one?"

Scorpius pointed down the aisle with the workbench at the end, and although the shelves on either side were lined with dozens upon dozens of boxes of wands, Garrick knew that he had to be pointing to the juniper. He blinked, not wanting to show his surprise to the Malfoys, and said, "That one's not finished yet."

"Oh," said Scorpius quietly, sounding disappointed.

Garrick continued to watch him. "Why that one?" he asked after a moment. Beside Scorpius, Garrick saw Draco wince, as though afraid of what answer his son might give, and he tried to give the boy an encouraging smile. It didn't come as naturally as it once had. His knees refused to bend, so he had to lean over Scorpius to get closer to his level, and be able to look him in the eye.

"It's…" The small brows furrowed in deep concentration, as though searching for the right words to describe what he felt, and he looked to his father for support. "_Comment dit-on 'chanter'?_"

"Scorpius, you know that word," Draco replied, exasperated, but more sad than angry. Before Garrick could ask about it again, Draco sighed, and told him, "He says it's… singing to him." One glance at Scorpius' face told Garrick that this was not as precise a translation as he'd hoped for, even if it was, strictly speaking, accurate. "Is that normal?"

Garrick gave Scorpius one last, appraising look. "In all my years," he said quietly, "I have never known a wand to sing."

Finally, Scorpius looked up and met Garrick's gaze, and Garrick realized that his earlier assessment had been incorrect. Although Scorpius was pale and blond, with a pointed nose and a small, thin mouth, there was a light in his round, grey eyes that his father and grandfather had never had. Garrick turned away and went to get the juniper wand.

"You might want to stand back," he said to Draco, who looked alarmed at his warning. "It's been a bit temperamental the last few days. I'm afraid I don't know what it's going to do."

But as soon as Scorpius wrapped his fingers around the end that Garrick held out to him, the length of wood hummed and closed around the unicorn hair inside. Garrick released his hold on it, and the wand spit a few more silver sparks onto his shoes in what might have been an affectionate manner. Well, of all the myriad things that Garrick had expected, it definitely hadn't been _that._

"Remarkable," he said softly, without taking his eyes from the wand. "That is remarkable magic." He looked at Scorpius again, who stared back, unashamed, or perhaps unaware of how unusual what he had just done really was. At such a young age, it couldn't be something that he was used to… Something that he was practicing…

Draco Malfoy had taken out his coin purse and was counting galleons onto the counter. Garrick had to tear his eyes away in order to quickly tally up a price, compare it to what had already been laid down…

"That's enough," Garrick said, when Malfoy had reached eight. "Half now, seven more upon receipt." He caught Scorpius' eye again, and explained, "It still needs tuning, and a proper polish. It will be done before September 1st." He didn't usually promise dates, but he felt comfortable enough promising this. Although there was no real way to predict when a wand would be finished, he suspected that this one would want to get back to its young master.

Draco eyed Garrick for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he was being played — he must have known, after all, that a total of fifteen galleons was more than twice what Garrick usually charged for a wand, even ones made of the more exotic woods — but then he nodded, and turned toward the door, motioning for his son. "We will expect your owl, then," he said crisply. "Scorpius, _allons-y_!"

Scorpius handed the wand reverently back to Garrick, and followed his father out the door.


	4. Finale

In true fashion of a difficult wand, Scorpius Malfoy's was not complete until August 31st. The street outside was bustling with last minute shoppers preparing to send their children off to Hogwarts the next day, but the wandmaker's shop was surprisingly quiet in comparison. No one was buying wands today, although a few people stopped in for polish or resin. Just as well, as far as Garrick was concerned. He left the front of the shop to Sebastian, wrote a short note to the Malfoys inviting them to return at 5:00, after he had closed up for the day, and sat down at the workbench to give the wand a final polish.

It really was a handsome thing that he had created. The juniper was the color of warm caramel, and once Scorpius had sealed the unicorn hair inside, Garrick had been able to sand it down to an almost uniform thickness, at which point the natural grain of the wood began to suggest to him certain shapes for the handle; stormy, roiling ocean waves breaking against steep cliffs. It wasn't his usual style, but now that Sebastian was back he had the time again for that kind of carving, and he worked late into the night, teasing out the little crests and eddies into a rippling pattern that seemed to move and flow in the flickering candlelight. He almost didn't want to sell it. But he had no use for another wand, even as a display of his craftsmanship.

Sebastian came to sit beside him. He picked up a wand blank from the table, a length of Indian rosewood that Garrick had recently paired with a magnificent Phoenix feather, glanced at his father and the juniper wand, then took up a knife and began to imitate the intricate work. Garrick smiled to himself. Maybe it was not his signature style, but, he thought, as the end of the rosewood slowly took the rough form of an open mouthed eagle, maybe it would become Sebastian's.

The clock in the street chimed the five-o-clock hour, and Garrick replaced the juniper wand in its box, and took it out to the front of the shop to wait. He brushed a bit of dust off the counter, adjusted the lamp so it gave off a little more light, and was just turning his sign from 'Open' to 'Closed' when the Malfoys arrived.

"We were beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about us," Draco said, only a tinge of the old drawl in his voice. "Your owl was a welcome surprise."

Scorpius didn't say anything, only looked up at Garrick with a nervous but excited smile as he followed the old man up to the counter. Garrick held out the open box and let Scorpius examine the wand inside. His gray eyes fell to the wave design and widened appreciatively, and he reached up to wrap his hand around the carved handle. "It's lighter than it was," he said, as he lifted it from the box, weighing it in his fingers.

"Twelve inches," Garrick replied, more for Mr. Malfoy's benefit than for Scorpius'. "Juniper and unicorn hair. Firm and, dare I say, resolute. And ready for proper spell work. Go on, give it a wave."

Scorpius took the wand and raised it to shoulder height, but before he could bring it down again the door creaked open, and a voice called into the shop, "Mr. Ollivander? I know you're closed but I saw the lights on and thought that I would— Oh."

Harry Potter paused in the doorway, looking over the scene. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I didn't realize that you had customers. I was just going to bring you some of those toffees." He held out a tin, as if in explanation.

"Ooh!" Rose Weasley had come in behind her uncle and caught sight of Scorpius, who seemed to suddenly realize that his arm was still in the air and dropped it to his side again. "Are you going to be a first year?" Scorpius looked a little alarmed at being addressed, and only nodded. "Us, too," Rose continued, gesturing between herself and Albus Potter, who had appeared on his father's other side. "Maybe we'll be in the same house."

Draco Malfoy made a little disbelieving noise that he tried to disguise as a cough, and Garrick looked to Harry Potter, wondering if he had heard about Rose's ambitions; if the twinkle in his green eyes was any indication, he had. He gave Garrick the smallest of knowing smiles, put the box of toffees on the table near the tip box, and started to turn the two children out of the shop.

"Come on, you two. What do you say we go have a look at those new Firebolt X's, or whatever they're calling them?"

Albus' smile widened and he happily agreed, but Rose did not move. "But he was going to do magic. Can't we just—"

"Come on, Rosie."

"Oh no, Potter," Draco Malfoy suddenly drawled, sounding much more like the Draco of Garrick's memories. "You've already interrupted. Might as well stay, now."

Although Harry Potter looked uncomfortable, Rose turned immediately back to Scorpius. "What sort of spell were you going to do?" she asked excitedly.

"I… I don't know," Scorpius replied, eyes darting between his father, Garrick, and Rose, the confidence and poise he had gained when first taking hold of the wand having seemingly evaporated.

"What kind of wood is your wand made of?" she pressed. "Because," and here she paused briefly, and also looked at Garrick for confirmation, "sometimes they favor certain kinds of magic. Like aspen is good for charm work, or fir for transfiguration."

Garrick smiled to himself. It was more complicated than that, of course, but he liked any child with that sort of interest in wandlore, even one as pretentious as Rose Weasley.

Scorpius glanced at Garrick once more before he answered, "Juniper."

Rose blinked, looked fleetingly disappointed, and her mouth worked for several moments before any sound came out. "My book didn't say anything about juniper…"

Draco Malfoy snorted without even trying to cover it up this time. "You'll be Granger's daughter," he said, fixing his gaze on Rose, "won't you?"

There was a tense silence following his question, but Rose of all people seemed unfazed by it. "What gave it away?" she asked, meeting his stare evenly. "The books or the hair?"

Garrick saw the movement out of the corner of his eye — Scorpius gave an unconscious little twitch, and the wand in his hand suddenly emitted a loud popping noise and an impressive shower of blue and silver sparks. Caught off guard, he stumbled several steps with the recoil. Albus Potter giggled until his father shushed him. Scorpius turned, embarrassed, back to Garrick and put the wand gently back into its box, before bending over to pick up something on the floor that Garrick couldn't readily see, not without craning over the counter.

"Here," the boy said, handing whatever it was to Rose Weasley. "Take it."

She looked at him curiously for a second, but extended her hand with the sort of blind trust that only children tend to exhibit. Scorpius dropped whatever he had picked up into her palm and stepped back. The object glowed subtly, and then slowly began to stretch and transform, first into a stem, and then a bud, and finally the petals of a blossom the same shade of orange as Rose's wild hair. She, along with everyone else, watched it with a combination of envy and awe. Then she smiled up at Scorpius, and said simply, "Brilliant."

Scorpius grinned back at her, the most expressive that Garrick had yet seen him. Behind Rose, Albus made a mocking sort of kissing face and pretended to gag.

"Alright, that's enough," Harry Potter said, taking Albus by the shoulders and turning him physically away. "Let's go, your aunt and uncle are waiting for us. Rosie, come on, we're leaving."

Rose tucked the flower behind her ear and started to follow, then looked back over her shoulder, gave Scorpius one last smile, and added, "See you at school, then," before she finally allowed her uncle to guide her out of the shop.

Draco Malfoy waited until the door had closed firmly behind them before he turned to address his son. "You are not to do Magic like that at Hogwarts, Scorpius. You may think you're hiding it by using that wand as a distraction but you aren't. People will catch on. Especially that girl."

Scorpius did not look in the least bit apologetic. Garrick put the lid on the box and pretended that he hadn't heard the reprimand. "Ah," he said, trying to break the silence that had fallen, "he's only a child. He's bound to still have a few bursts here and there."

The look that Draco gave him made it clear to Garrick that what Scorpius had just done was no accident, and further confirmed his suspicions that Scorpius had known what he was doing that day he had first held the juniper wand.

"I believe I still owe you some money, Mr. Ollivander," Draco Malfoy said, fishing a coin purse out of his coat pocket and dropping it onto the counter. "That should settle it." He glanced out the window, perhaps checking to see that the Potters and Weasleys were no longer in sight of the shop, and nodded. "Scorpius?" The boy looked up. "What do you say to Mr. Ollivander?"

"_Merci beaucoup_," Scorpius answered obediently, and really seemed to mean it. Garrick handed the box down to him with a smile, and Scorpius hurried to his father's side. They stepped out into the street, and a moment later Garrick heard the tell-tale pop of Apparition. He went to lock the door.

2017 had been a particularly good year for wands. The birch, the silver lime, the juniper… all would go on to do great things, of that he was sure. Garrick wondered idly if he would live to see them all in the same room together again, and then decided that it didn't matter. His time was over. This year, he thought, and indeed the next seven, ten, nineteen, however long those children wanted, would belong to them.

And the shop, he decided finally, would now belong to Sebastian.


End file.
